The Girl of the Golden West | Page 7

to be responsible
for his downfall.
It was odd, in a way, too, for he had married an American girl, the
daughter of a sea captain who had visited the coast, and for many years
he had held her memory sacred. And, curiously enough, it was because
of this enmity, if indirectly, that much of his fortune had been wasted.
Fully resolved that England--even France or Russia, so long as Spain
was out of the question--should be given an opportunity to extend a
protectorate over his beloved land, he had sent emissaries to Europe
and supplied them with moneys--far more than he could afford--to give
a series of lavish entertainments at which the wonderful richness and
fertility of California could be exploited. At one time it seemed as if his
efforts in that direction would meet with success. His plan had met with
such favour from the authorities in the City of Mexico that Governor
Pico had been instructed by them to issue a grant for several million of
acres. But the United States Government was quick to perceive the
hidden meaning in the extravagances of these envoys in London, and in
the end all that was accomplished was the hastening of the inevitable
American occupation.
From that time on it is most difficult to imagine the zeal with which he
endorsed the scheme of the native Californians for a republic of their
own. He was a leader when the latter made their attack on the

Americans in Sonoma County and were repulsed with the loss of
several killed. One of these was Ramerrez' only brother, who was the
last, with the exception of himself and son, of a proud, old, Spanish
family. It was a terrible blow, and increased, if possible, his hatred for
the Americans. Later the old man took part in the battle of San
Pasquale and the Mesa. In the last engagement he was badly wounded,
but even in that condition he announced his intention of fighting on and
bitterly denounced his fellow-officers for agreeing to surrender. As a
matter of fact, he escaped that ignominy. For, taking advantage of his
great knowledge of the country, he contrived to make his way through
the American lines with his few followers, and from that time may be
said to have taken matters into his own hand.
Old Ramerrez was conscious that his end was merely a matter of hours,
if not minutes. Over and over again he had had himself propped up by
his attendants with the expectation that his command to bring his son
had been obeyed. No one knew better than he how impossible it would
be to resist another spasm like that which had seized him a little while
after his son had ridden off the rancho early that morning. Yet he relied
once more on his iron constitution, and absolutely refused to die until
he had laid upon his next of kin what he thoroughly believed to be a
stern duty. Deep down in heart, it is true, he was vaguely conscious of a
feeling of dread lest his cherished revenge should meet with opposition;
but he refused to harbour the thought, believing, not unnaturally, that,
after having imposed his will upon others for nearly seventy years, it
was extremely unlikely that his dying command should be disobeyed
by his son. And it was in the midst of these death-bed reflections that
he heard hurried footsteps and knew that his boy had come at last.
When the latter entered the room his face wore an agonised expression,
for he feared that he had arrived too late. It was a relief, therefore, to
see his father, who had lain still, husbanding his little remaining
strength, open his eyes and make a sign, which included the padre as
well as the attendants, that he wished to be left alone with his son.
"Art thou here at last, my son?" said the old man the moment they were
alone.

"Ay, father, I came as soon as I received your message."
"Come nearer, then, I have much to say to you, and I have not long to
live. Have I been a good father to you, my lad?"
The young man knelt beside the couch and kissed his father's hand,
while he murmured an assent.
At the touch of his son's lips a chill struck the old man's heart. It
tortured him to think how little the boy guessed of the recent history of
the man he was bending over with loving concern; how little he divined
of the revelation that must presently be made to him. For a moment the
dying man felt that, after all, perhaps it were better to renounce his
vengeance, for it had been suddenly borne in upon him that the boy
might suffer